Numb
by JuniperHen
Summary: Ford's life has been full of terrible things...and that is why he has decided to put an end to it. WARNING: Suicidalness, Language, and Drunkenness.
1. Paint The Carpet Red

Stanford Pines stood in the living room, knife in his hand. Mabel, Dipper, and Stanley were away at the store. He had already said his final goodbyes to them before they left, though he was careful not to act too suspicious. He reassured himself for the thousandth time that they weren't going to see it happen. There was nobody else in the house, just Stanford. Soon there would be nobody at all. He would have nothing more to worry about, nothing more to regret, and nobody else would be harmed by the existence of Stanford Pines. He was finally ready to rid the world of himself.

"Goodbye."

He ran the knife across each of his wrists and laid down for the final time on the wooden floor. He winced a few times, but overall, the experience was not very bad. Blood loss was relieving the pain, actually, because his entire body was going numb. He looked around a little. It really was a pleasant Sunday afternoon. The right amount of sunlight was pouring through the window and onto him like liquid, it was peacefully quiet, and the sensation of the pool of blood forming under him was comforting to him. It reminded him of his childhood when he would lay in the sand on the beach and let the waves roll over him. Stanford would have smiled, but his face had gone so numb he couldn't move his lips. Most of his senses were leaving him, and his eyelids were drifting closed. It was almost like he was just taking a lovely, quiet nap. _Goodnight._

"GRUNKLE FORD!"

Then the world went black.


	2. Stitches

The first thing Stanford saw when he woke up was white. Was this death? Or had this all been a dream?

"Stanford?"

He knew that voice well. It belonged to Stanley. What was Stanley doing here?

"He's awake!"

Then the realization hit Stanford. He was awake! All of his senses returned to him in a flash and he looked around. He recognized his surroundings as a hospital. There was a strange pain in his hands.

"Can you hear me, Stanford?" Stanley asked. Ford nodded a little.

Stanley was sitting right next to him, and the children were next to Stanley. Dipper was clutching a piece of paper that was lightly stained with red…the note that Stanford had left to tell them about his

"Suicide…" Stanley whispered. "Why? Did I do something wrong?"

Stanford quickly shook his head.

"I…did…" He was struggling to speak and his voice was raspy. "I didn't…want you…to see…this…"

"Ford, please…stay with us. I just got you back. I need you." Stanley started crying.

"You…don't…"

"I do! You matter more to me than the world, Ford!"

This was why Stanford didn't want anyone in the house. His continued existence was burdening them with the sadness of nearly losing him and the fear of his death. As Stanford extended his hand out to Stanley, he noticed the stitches on his wrists.

Damn.


	3. Lies

_There's a gun in my trench coat._

After putting it on, Stanford reached down and, sure enough, he found the gun he always kept in his hidden pocket. Knowing himself, it was probably loaded. He checked it, and it had two bullets inside, which was more than he needed. But he probably should wait until he got home. Trying to commit suicide in a hospital was pointless. He had made that mistake before. There was always someone who found a way to save him from eternal relief. Relief from all of his burdens… No, just a little more waiting. It was only a four minute car ride back to his house, after all, and he felt he should say goodbye to his family one last time (again).

"I love you three," Ford said in the car. "I always will."

"We love you too, Grunkle Ford!" said Mabel.

"We all love you and we want to help you. If you can tell us what's troubling you, we can help," said Dipper.

"We want you to be happy! If there's something we can do for you, tell us," said Mabel.

Stanford put his hand on his pocket. "I think I'm okay now."

It was a lie. Killing, even in self defense, weighs on a person's mind like iron. Even after killing, there were things to think about that happened in the portal. Torture, watching murder, barely escaping death, and being scared out of his own mind for so long had changed his thought process. He didn't think he could continue being the man he once was, and he'd rather not find out. It would be easy to hurt them by accident. He had made so many enemies in his lifetime…It would be best not to put his family in danger. It had been a pattern since he came into the portal. Wherever he went, destruction and devastation followed.

"Ford, are you okay?" asked Stanley.

"Yeah," said Stanford.

"You're not going to do this again, right?" Stanley said.

"I'm not," said Stanford. Another lie.

"Good. You scared me, Sixer." Stanley paused. "It was close…you nearly died. I really can't live without you."

 _No, you can't live with me._

The rest of the car ride was silent.


	4. Gunfire

When they arrived at the house, Stanford walked in unusually slowly. On the way to the kitchen he quietly slipped away to the basement. Dipper got Stanley and Mabel a Pitt cola and had them sit down with him at the table.

"I just don't know what's wrong with him…he's never done something like this before," said Stanley.

"Grunkle Ford needs to cheer up," said Mabel. "Maybe he needs ice cream…with sprinkles! Or maybe some stuffed animals! Or a pretty new sweater!"

Dipper looked down a little. "Guys…I did some research on depression when Grunkle Ford was in the hospital…and this is not good. When someone who is depressed seems to be getting better, that's actually when they are most at risk."

Stanley's eyes widened. "Oh no…We should check on him."

They rushed downstairs to see Ford standing in the middle of the room…with a gun against his head. His hand was shaking a little. Unaware of his family's presence behind him, he started to pull the trigger, but Stanley ran over and seized the gun before he could. "WHY DO YOU WANT TO KILL YOURSELF SO BADLY?!"

"I'm sorry." Ford's tone was cold and emotionless, but his entire body was shaking now.

"You can talk to us, Stanford. We're your family," Stanley urged. He removed the bullet in the gun and put it in his pocket. It was the only one there. Ford had hidden the other one in case he had gotten caught. "Come on…we can talk this out. Okay?"

Ford's legs gave out from under him and he fell onto his knees. His voice remained unemotional. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry…"

His thoughts were gone…Ford could only apologise for what appeared to be nothing. His family walked him into the living room to talk with him.

"So…what's up?" Stanley asked once they had settled down. Ford was absolutely silent. "Come on, Poindexter…it can't be that bad."

" _Can't be that bad?"_ Ford repeated with anger, rising to his feet. "You have NO IDEA what I've seen…what I've done…so many innocent people…" He fell back into his chair and threw his head into his hands. "I can't see that again…not you…"

"Grunkle Ford…what happened in that portal?" Dipper asked. He reached across the table and took his uncle's hand.

"Watch the stitches, kid!" Ford hissed.

Dipper released his grip immediately. "Sorry!"

"I'm not going to mention any of the details. Not ever. That information is just too awful…for anyone. You'd hate me if you knew the truth."

Everyone seemed to ponder this for a moment.

"I know what you need, Grunkle Ford," Mabel said, walking over to him. She wrapped her arms around him. "You just need hug therapy."

To everyone's surprise, Ford bent down to her level and hugged her close to himself, burying his head into her sweater. Nobody could tell that he was weeping.


	5. Nearly Almost A Chapter But Not Quite

Okay...this isn't really a chapter. I just needed to get this out.

As a person, I am actually suicidal as well. Recently life has been harder and my thoughts have been getting darker, which makes the story a little easier to continue now that I am truly in the mindset of the character. I just wanted to say that I'm sorry that I've been really slow and that I will get more done on this story.


	6. Yet Another Sleepless Night

"Do you wanna talk?"

It was past midnight. The kids had gone to bed, but Ford had remained awake, so Stan stayed nearby just in case he thought about harming himself again. He hadn't gotten up from his chair since he'd broken down in the kitchen, and every few minutes he would find a new object in the room and stare at it blankly, eyes drained of all light…empty. Lifeless. Cold.

It had been 9 hours of Ford just sitting there, staring, unable to process the affection he was shown earlier. Worst of all, he was refusing to eat and drink. Stan wasn't exactly sure what to do. Should he be calling the police? A suicide hotline? A relative? His actions toward his brother didn't seem to be helping much, or perhaps at all, and he considered trying a different approach as his options were beginning to run low.

"You can talk to me, Stanford. It's okay," Stan said softly, sitting across from Ford. He frowned as his brother's eyes drifted slowly down to the floor. "Can you look at me?"

The room was quiet, the only noise being the wind swiftly brushing against the window. It still wasn't enough to explain the odd chill in the air. Stan began to wonder if Ford could feel it through his thick clothing, but the thought didn't stay for long, quickly replaced by a concern that Ford was too warm. He just needed to know why his twin was so incredibly still.

"You've been like this for hours…at least eat something. Please…you need some kind of proper nourishment. You know this isn't good for you."

"Why are you so concerned about me all of a sudden?" he croaked, locking his eyes with Stan's. "Why do I matter now of all times…when it's too late…"

Stan paused, stunned for a moment that Ford had talked, but quickly responded. "Too late for what?"

"Too late…for everything." His eyes looked dead. "There is so much that happened…so much I've witnessed…so much I've caused…someone should have stopped me. Someone should have killed me if that's what it would have taken. Somebody out there should have done anything in their power to keep me from doing what I did. I was foolish for so long, I made so many mistakes, and I needed to be stopped."

"What are you talking about? You're the smartest guy I know!"

"I'm fucking stupid, Stanley."

"Poindexter, the kids-"

"I don't care what the damn kids hear. What I do care about is their safety, as well as yours." A brief flicker of emotion crossed his face for a moment, but quickly faded. "That is why I wish to die. I've endangered enough people in my lifetime. I know now to prevent the worst before it happens."

"But-"

"You should be heading to bed, Stanley. It's late."

"No. You're the one who should be resting. Look at yourself, Ford. You haven't slept in days."

"I don't care."

"But I do."

"I'm not worth the concern."  
"You are. You're my brother."

"Please, Stanley."

"Alright." Stan turned to leave and grabbed Ford's arm with a steel grip. "But you're coming with me. Come on. It's for your own good."

Ford did not object, but silently let his brother take him into…this wasn't his room. It was Stanley's. Stan made him sit on the bed, then took a seat beside him.

"It's all gonna be okay, Stanford. Now go to sleep."

Ford unwillingly laid down on the bed, then, although he fought hard against it, finally succumbed to the drowsiness that plagued him. Stan squeezed next to him on the bed and fell asleep with his arm around Ford, pinning him down so he couldn't get up and try to harm himself. That night, they both dreamt about New Jersey when they were close. When they got along. When they were happy.


End file.
